Monotone
by cheeky doggie
Summary: [oneshot][post KH2]There was something about that cocky smirk, the flashing, selfassured eyes full of mischief, and he thought that it looked a lot like him. And let's not forget the gravitydefying hair either. [crossover]


Ha. Random drabble that popped out of nowhere. Mwahahaha!

What's wrong with me? Because I'm OBSESSIVE, that's why. Bah!

…funny thing is, this appeared in my head as a _humour story. _When I started writing, I realised it was becoming a mix between angst and…well, just plain drabbly weirdness. Go figure.

**Warnings: **Mild OOC-ness. Kinda…weird…too. And beware the run-on sentences. Watch out for the numerous and almost illegal usage of the word monotone too. Semi-AUish.

---

_M_onoton**e**

_It's really mo_n_otone here…**likemylife**but I guess these are the consequences of my actions**alliwantedwassome**answers_

_-_

"_I'll…disappear?"_

"_No, you won't disappear! You'll be whole again!"_

He scoffed to himself. In his current state, he reckoned that he would have been happier off as a Nobody, where, at least, he had his own body and freedom. Here, in this nameless (or if it had one, it escaped him) realm, there was hardly a thing to entertain himself with each day, let alone spend the rest of his _life _there.

'_Hopefully, Sora will die a premature death.' _He thought glumly. _'Maybe then I'll be able to get out of this hellhole…maybe to where Axel and the others are.'_

The thought brought a smile to his normally sombre face. Yeah…it would be good to see the one who was his best friend…

'_Too bad it took you so long to remember.' _The snide voice of his conscience (did Nobodies have consciences? He briefly wondered) whispered into his ear. _'Otherwise, things might have ended differently…'_

He also wonders if his conscience put in _just _that little bit extra effort to be as annoying as damn possible. Ah, but it provided a bit of entertainment during these dreary days, although it wasn't that easy to tell time here.

"Roxas!"

A blonde girl appears from one of the rooms lining the seemingly endless corridor, clutching a sketch pad to her chest and smiling gently at him. He vaguely remembers a time when that smile was brighter and more cheerful, but it's such a fleeting memory that he dismisses it just as quickly as it came.

"Naminé." He nodded to her, a small smile on his face.

Once upon a time, when he first set foot in this place, he had been on the verge of blaming her for his predicament but something, perhaps a memory from before Twilight Town, from when he was with the Organization _- perhaps before Castle Oblivion - _stopped him. She, it reasoned with him, was the same as him after all. Just a Nobody…but even less of one than he was.

He doesn't quite understand why she carries the sketchbook around with her on their daily trips around this strange place they're trapped in. Nothing much really changes in the scenery, except for the occasional window that shows the bright blue sky outside (probably fake, he thinks) and, sometimes, they happen upon a living room that's filled with comfortable, plush couches and a cosy fire crackling in the hearth.

Naminé says that it's for memory's sake, so that when things seem particularly monoto_n_e, she can flip it open and they can look through memories that they shared together, before everything spiralled out of control, and they can laugh as they remember _- too bad one of them doesn't - _the silly games they used to play.

So far, she has yet to do so.

"What do you think we'll find today?" The question is murmured half-heartedly, more like a thought that was spoken out loud than a direct question. Despite that, Naminé smiles.

"Hm, I don't know Roxas." She answers, in that slow, careful way of hers. "Perhaps we shall find a kitchen today? I certainly hope so; it feels like forever since I've eaten anything." She speaks with the formal tone that no teenage girl should ever possess (_and he, a solemness that no boy should ever know)_, but then again, they've broken so many rules as Nobodies already that it really couldn't hurt to break another.

Together, they reach the only door in this long grey corridor that stands out. Today, the door is a cheerful sun-yellow, and is located on the right hand side. Yesterday, it was a mix of red and green and was further down the hallway, on the left hand side. Before that, it was in another corridor completely (it's times like this that he wonders how it is that they even manage to find each other in this maze of a building, but he supposes that it's part of the logic of this place).

They don't question the how the door manages to do this, nor do they question why the door leads somewhere different every day. They don't question why things that should be _impossible _are occurring here, every day, all around them, in this strange, strange place that they never wanted to be stuck in in the first place. Because their lives have become such a mono_t_one blur, such a thick haze, that to question it would shatter this surreal almost-dream, and they would be sent tumbling down a deep never-ending abyss for the rest of eternity _- and they don't question how that could happen either, cause questions lose their meanings in a place like this - _

He, like every other day, reaches out with a hand to turn the silver knob and, like every other day, the door slowly swings open. And, like every other day, they both peer inside in vague anticipation.

But today, _not_ like every other day, they hear something they haven't heard in months_days_**years**_it'shardtotellinaplacelikethis._

Laughter rings out clearly, contrasting so sharply with their surroundings that they jump in surprise. He looks at her questioningly, and she only shrugs. Neither of them had expected this to lie beyond the door but they really shouldn't have been too surprised because life has thrown so many things at them by now that they should be immune to it all.

Together, they step into the room. It's not much different from other rooms they've seen; drab grey walls, a few couches pushed against the wall, a coffee table that's been pushed off to the side. But what _is _different is that this time there are _people _in there. (Absent-mindedly, he debates whether or not they can be considered people because they sprout wings from their back and the last time he checked, people couldn't do that)

Two sets of blue eyes regard the strangers carefully as they step closer to them. They are indeed strange beings; one has an unruly mop of bright purple hair (it's even more gravity-defying than Sora's) and the other has an uneven fringe with one lock longer than the others and a long golden ponytail that curls a few times before it rests on the floor, large cross glinting at the end of it.

A chess board is between the two of them, the remaining pieces showing that the blond was having a good time thrashing the purple-haired man, as the white knight was currently in check with the black king. From the looks of it, the violet-tressed one was having a hard time getting his way out of it.

The strangers observe the pair just as carefully as they themselves were being scrutinized, and for a long time a heavy silence descends on them. Neither of the groups had known, let alone expected, that any other beings dwelled in this strange place they were forced to call home, and the situation is tense.

Funnily enough, it was Naminé, the shy artist, the quiet Nobody who isn't even fully a Nobody, who breaks the _m_onotone silence. She steps forward, shifting her sketchbook to her left arm, and kneels down in front of the chessboard, ignoring the three sets of eyes on her. With slender fingers, she moves the black king to the square diagonally behind it and, in doing so, clears the path for another black minion to face directly with the white king.

She sits back, hands folded neatly in her lap and smiling timidly. "Checkmate."

-

The hours fly past faster than usual today, perhaps because they have something to do besides idly wandering the winding hallways. For the first time since they've come here, it seems as if their dream-like state has been broken, and the smiles they give are full of the happiness that they previously lacked, and they laugh like they have never laughed before, not even when they were Nobodies.

He finds himself laughing alongside the one who calls himself Dark, more so than he does with the blonde _(he says his name is Krad, and he wonders whether there's something more than a coincidence in the way that they are named) _but he's not quite sure why. Maybe it's something in the way Dark acts, his contagious laugh and easy-going smirk, or maybe it's because he reminds Roxas of _him _so strongly that he feels drawn to him.

And for a minute, his non-existent heart skips a beat, because he realises, with a guilty pang in his hollow chest, that it took him longer, longer than usual, _longer than it should **ever **take him_ to remember Axel's name. There's a brief, panicky thought that he's losing his memories of Axel _all over again_, but he tells himself to calm down and that maybe he's mind's just a bit slow on the uptake since something out of the usual happened today, and his mind has yet to catch up with that fact.

And then, before they have time to realise it, it's time for them to go. They don't know how they know this but, like with every other thing, they don't ask out loud. But, since today has been such a _different_ day, they're curious, and he doesn't think it'll be long before they start wondering again.

They bade each other goodbye, and he smiles at their optimism (_see you tomorrow, ne?_) but all he does is exchange looks with Naminé, as if sharing a secret between the two of them, before he opens that dreadful door and leaving the two to their friendly bickering.

He waits for her to come out and closes the door, immediately silencing any noise from within the room. Naminé stares at the door in a strange way -_ wistfully, he realises_ - and turns her large blue eyes to him. He knows that she wishes that the other two could stay, because when you're bored out of your mind any company is good company, but he knows as well as she does that it's next to impossible. So she smiles serenely again (_a smile that he's _sure _is half-fake_) and turns her back to the door _like it never happened at **all**_.

"I wonder what we'll find tomorrow?"

---

They stare at the door.

The innocently bright yellow door with the polished silver handle, the door on the right just down the hallway, the door that held so many surprises and so many new experiences behind its painted wooden exterior, but most importantly…

_The door from _yesterday.

They don't know why, because this should be _impossible_, because its _never _happened before and there's no reason why it should happen now, but then again, they don't really care because that means their friends (_because already he thinks of them on the same level he thinks of Naminé) _have to be behind that door. Two hands, one of fair complexion, the other abnormally pale, dart out at the same time, twisting the knob and hastily pushing the door open. Subsequently, arms crossed as they fall forward into the open doorway and collapse into a heap on the floor.

They struggle for a minute as they attempt to untangle themselves, and he expects to hear the loud, raucous laughter that is so like he's best friend's, and the quiet amused chuckle of the other blonde. Instead, he only hears a cheery, light-hearted laugh and spies an unfamiliar hand offered to help him and Naminé. Two pairs of blue eyes blink and look up further into the face of the owner of the hand. His heart (_or whatever else that is producing these feelings of happiness) _sinks because he's looking into bright red eyes that he's never seen before, and then it flips because he's seeing _ruby red _spiky hair that is so similar yet at the same time so different and it's all he can do _not _to look away and blink away the wetness in the corner of his eyes.

Behind the redhead is a tall teen with icy cold blue eyes and hair of the same hue, wearing glasses and looking _just that little bit _frustrated, for reasons he knows naught of. He stares at Roxas with something akin to haughtiness, but he sees a faint flicker of recognition in those eyes, but what for he's not sure because he's sure he's never seen this boy with the peculiar hair colour before (_maybe another forgotten memory?)_, and he doesn't miss the gasp of surprise and dawning realisation from the redhead either. He's never seen any of them before, but at the same time he feels that he's met them and he doesn't like the feeling because the last time he had it he ended up losing his place in the physical world--

'_Are you sure this isn't the **physical **world?'_

--and he sure as hell doesn't want it to happen again.

But there's no sign of the two winged beings that he's grown accustomed to in the course of a day, and his hopes are forced to wither and plummet. He's not sure why he feels so _down _just because they're not there because, after all, he should have known already. They weren't supposed to be here at all, the _door _wasn't supposed to be still there, that door that links their realities together, the door that overlaps dimensions and connects worlds.

_Why _did he want to see him so much?

The redhead was talking.

_S_i_mple._

"…he mentioned meeting two people--"

**_He rem_**i**_nds you of--_**

"--and we're not sure why, but we end up here when--"

'_His name…'_

"--and that is Satoshi Hiwatari and--"

_Ohno_I_'mforgett_i_ngaga_i_nth_i_scan'tbe_I_won'tforgeth_i_m__not**aga**_**i_n._**

"--my name is--"

_You really don't remember, do you? It's me, you know…_

"--Daisuke Niwa." _NO._

_Axel._

"Roxas!"

---

He avoids them for the rest of the day, quietly sitting on the sofa next to the newly added fireplace (_it wasn't there yesterday, when the other two were here_) and looking away whenever his companions glance his way. He refuses to meet the eyes of any of them; he doesn't want to see the blank, suspicious gaze that is the blue-eyed boy's, the pained, worried look that is Naminé's and he especially doesn't want to see the concerned, yet curious, face that is the redhead's.

But he listens.

He learns that the two almost-strangers are from another world, a peaceful town where strange occurrences were no surprise to them, a world that hadn't been aware of the existence of others out there (_he supposes it's a good thing, because that would mean Sora, Donald and Goofy have been keeping the world **(b)**orders_). He learns that they are essentially the same people as the two from yesterday, yet they are different in the personality sense. He learns that they are two beings that share the same body and heart, because they are two halves of the other.

_Then_, he exchanges a brief glance with Naminé. The concept sounded suspiciously familiar, and when the redhead asks about their exchange, they are launched into a discussion about their (non)existence.

It is when they are explaining about the Nobodies that are stronger then the rest, like those of Organization XIII, that his breath catches in his throat and he clamps his mouth shut, refusing to say anymore. He ignores the exasperated, pleading look that he knows she is giving him, and stretches out on the couch, turning his back towards them. He hears Naminé quietly apologising for his behaviour, but he ignores that too. He wants nothing to do with the two teenagers.

The day is filled with tension, full of awkward silences and brief attempts at conversation. He knows that it is his fault, but he refuses to do anything to solve it because he's _tired _of playing the hero, the one that makes everything alright, regardless of the fact that it was his Other who had done so.

And as they say their farewells for what he secretly hopes is the last time, they explain the concept of the door and the mystery that is its existence, and the blue-haired boy brings up the question that the two of them had been unconsciously ignoring.

"_Why don't you _stay _in the room?"_

They pause, neither saying anything for awhile. Finally, he moves, huffing and pushing his way past Naminé and into the empty expanse of the hallway. Naminé only smiles sadly at their bewildered looks, bowing her head slightly in goodbye.

The door closes on the occupants of the room, and although the thought crosses both their minds to open it and peer out at the two blondes just down the hallway, they both know that it is useless and they both know, somehow, in the strange rules of this strange world, that they will see nothing but empty space. But through the door they hear a whisper, a slight hint of something that is barely there.

_We don't _seek _the answers anymore, because we're both _tired _of questions._

---

They discover a strange pattern after the first few days.

The door has stubbornly refused to move, much to Roxas' dislike, and although it remains unchanged, the surprises inside don't. Some days, they approach a kitchen in which the redhead and blue-haired boy occupy. He is sulky then, refusing any offer of food or water, no matter how much his stomach is wailing.

Some other days, they discover something akin to a garden behind the door (none of them find it odd, of course) and to his delight, the two angels will be there and he's laughing and smiling again because he's _happy _at someone familiar.

The presence of the humans and the angels swap, and sometimes, the black-winged one would be there and, suddenly, he would be gone and replaced by the flustered redhead. These swaps soon become common, and they grow accustomed to the change of people and rooms. They didn't really care about those trivial matters, because they had company and that was all that mattered, because it broke the mo_n_otone rhythm that they had become used to and they certainly weren't complaining.

They were changing, he realised. _Life _was changing. Instead of moving in the slow, amiable pace that it previously had, it seemed to rush by them, the same way they began to race to reach the door before the other, laughing and stumbling as they did so. He could have sworn that Naminé seemed _brighter_, like her hair had grown a vibrant yellow and her eyes sparkled with life.

It was in the company of their friends that she opened up her sketchbook for the first time, describing and remembering the memories contained within each carefully drawn picture. He was glad that the others appreciated and respected their reminiscent moments, even though he himself could barely remember most of them.

He finds that he doesn't even mind Daisuke's and Satoshi's company anymore, because he can bring himself to look at the redhead now without the face of the green-eyed, tattoo-ed Nobody flashing in his mind. He talks with them as well, and is surprised and (grudgingly) pleased that he finds common ground with the blue-haired teen.

And everyday, Naminé draws these memories in her sketchbook.

But he also finds that there is a downside to this cheery new life they lead.

He's forgetting more and more, finding it hard to even remember the names of the members of the Thirteenth Order that he could once rant off easily. There was a brief moment on one day that he had paused in the middle of an avid conversation, and had turned to stare at Naminé with a look so frightened and lost that it had made her chest clench painfully.

He had almost broken down then, because he had forgotten _how many people there were in the Organization_. He remembered the shocked look on her face as she flew forward, hugging him and whispering in his ear for him to remember _them_, to remember his best friend and the warping gunman and the cheerful sitar-playing one and the one who loved to gamble, to remember the ones that were like his family. He shook his head, and she grabbed her sketchpad, flipping open the pages, encouraging him. He could feel the sympathetic gazes of the other two in the room as he dragged together his composure and quietly, but surely, listed the 13 members and their elemental powers. The look of relief on her face was immense.

-

They stare at the door.

The innocently bright yellow door with the polished silver knob that had become familiar to them now. But _something was wrong_.

It was in the _wrong place_. It was supposed to be on the right hand side, just down the hallway, not at the very end of this complex and twisted labyrinth.

They knew that this would happen eventually, but it didn't ease the pain and surprise at all. Slowly, without even bothering to open the door, they turned around, walking away from it. His mind argued with him, because there was the _slightest _of chances that nothing had changed, that he could open the door and smile at the cheery welcome he always got, but deep down he already knew that they were gone. The door had finally moved and, with it, the friends they had made.

She's waiting for him with a comforting smile on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes and he knows that she's suffering just as much as he is. He finds it hard to say anything, and there is an uncomfortable silence before he manages to choke out two words.

"They're…gone…"

She reaches up and presses a finger to his lips, and tapping his head. "They'll be in our memories forever." She whispered. "Even if we have no heart to keep them in, we have our minds. Right?"

He swallows painfully and nods, and they walk away from that yellow door that had given them so much and, at the same time, taking it all away. And, for the first time, he regrets ever opening that door on the very first day.

---

They don't know where the door is today.

They don't know what it looks like, whether it's one colour or a mixture of many, whether it has a handle or a knob, whether it's down a side corridor on the left or whether it's right next to their own room.

They don't know because they have stopped visiting it, stopped leaving their room entirely. Instead, he sits on a chair against the wall and she sits at the table, drawing new pictures in a different sketchbook and trying to bring back the life that was once in her works. They're like this everyday, because it seems as if the spell of this dream-like world has been woven over them again and this time they can't break free.

He looks over her shoulder today, and sees a black-winged angel with messy purple hair and a cocky smirk, and he feels that there is something familiar about him but he can't _remember _ever seeing him before, although he won't be surprised if he had because he couldn't trust his memories anymore. He glances to a little table in the corner, and the forgotten sketchbook laying on top of it, at Naminé, then back to the book that has been untouched and would lay forever closed once more.

"_N-Naminé?"_

"_Hm?"_

"_Were…were they…was it--did that ever happen?"_

_She smiles serenely, and he dully notes that her hair is (once more) a ghostly yellow. "I wonder."_

_---_

_It's r**ea**lly mo_n_otone here._

_And it's **hard** to tell whether it's just a d r e a m or reality._

_And my memor_i_es are **vague **and sur_real

**_D i d i t e v e r h a p p e n a t a l l ?_**

_ and then they think and wonder and they ponder and then decide that perhaps their memories have been lying to them _all_ a l o n g._

---

It turned out longer than I thought, and stranger than I predicted. I apologize for any confusion and hope for all your criticism. And now I shall be shot for attempting and failing at using the 'pretty' style. I'm proud of myself for finishing this though. Oh and…about the chess…I have no idea whether that's possible or not…

Any grammar/spelling/contradictory mistakes that you see _are not there. _You're imagining things.

**Disclaimer: Do not own DN Angel (Dark, Krad, Satoshi and Daisuke) nor Kingdom Hearts (Roxas, Naminé, Organization XIII and Sora, and any others mentioned). DN Angel belongs to Yukiru Sugisaki and KH to Square Enix and Disney.**


End file.
